A Bride for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance

a third bucket of steaming water; a towel slung over one arm.  Nye took these from her and ushered her out the door, shutting it firmly behind her.
“Can you take your clothes off, or do you need me to send Edna in to help you,” he said over his shoulder as he emptied the bucket into the bathtub.
“I can manage,” Mina muttered.
“Don’t lock the door.  I’ll stand outside.”
Her eyes widened.  “Why?”
“You look fit to drop.”
 He thought she would pass out in the bath?  Surprised by his solicitude, Mina nodded her head and he let himself out, shutting the door firmly behind him.  She reached up to start unbuttoning her bodice.  Her skirts and petticoats were harder to wriggle out of as the bottom half were sodden and clinging to her legs.  She felt limp as a rag and slumped against the wall a couple of times to muster the energy to carry on unfastening her hook and eyes.  Her eyes felt gritty.  Everything ached.  By the time she lowered herself into the bath, she was exhausted and the water lukewarm.  She clutched Ivy’s rose soap to her.  Vaguely she recognized it smelt like sandalwood and rose petals.
A sharp rap on the door roused her.  “Are you in that tub yet?”  Nye’s voice penetrated the fog of her thoughts.
“Yes,” she croaked.
The door squeaked open, just a crack.  “Answer me, Mina.”
“Yes!” she repeated louder, twisting her head round to look at the door.  Had he just called her Mina?  She thought it was the first time he had done so.  Apparently satisfied, he shut the door.  Swallowing, Mina shuffled down the tub to wet her hair and soap it up.  By the time she had rinsed it through twice and run the sweet-smelling soap over her body, he was knocking on the door again.
“I-I’m nearly done,” she called weakly.  Why was her throat so raw?  Then she recalled the yelling herself hoarse on the beach.  Oh, that was why.  She had just about gotten the towel wrapped about her when the door opened again.  She started hobbling in the direction of the door and found herself once more caught up in those strong arms.
They were halfway up the stairs to the attics when she lifted her head from his shoulder, with effort.  “I left my boots on the beach,” she murmured, but Nye made no reply to that, just shouldered the bedroom door open and carried her inside, twitching back the blankets.
“Get under the covers,” he ordered, laying her down.
Mina blinked up at him and reached for her cotton nightgown which she had hooked over the rail that morning.  It seemed to be caught there and she dropped her arm in defeat.  It ached too much from the earlier exertion to persist tugging at it.
“You want this?”  Nye reached past her and caught up the white garment.  He eyed it a moment doubtfully.
“My nightgown,” she said feebly.
“It looks about ten sizes too big for you.”
Her towel still firmly about her, Mina determinedly pulled the voluminous white garment over her head but the ribbons at her throat defeated her.  She was too drained to fasten them.
“Take off that damp towel or you’ll catch a chill.”
Mina lay limply on her back.  “I will in a minute.”  Her sore eyelids drooped shut.
She heard Nye click his tongue and the next minute two strong hands had reached beneath her tent of a nightgown to drag the fluffy towel down her legs.  Mina gave an outraged squawk but could not muster the energy even to bat his hands away.  The next thing she knew, she was jerked into a sitting position, the towel enveloped her head and he was vigorously rubbing her wet hair with it.  Mina gasped, feeling her back against his warm front.  Was she sat between his thighs?  Oh God, why did it feel so good? 
In general, she had never been much of a one for physical closeness.  Such a prickly little thing, her mother had always objected when Mina wriggled off her lap as a child.  Mama’s little hedgehog.  Now though, she felt weak as a kitten and certainly in no fit state to object to his familiarity.  In any case, it gave her an excuse to just sit there with her eyes closed and feel his strength surrounding her.  She wished she could tuck her knees up and just lie back against him, but of course, she could never allow such a thing.
A knock on the door, startled her eyes open.  It was Edna carrying a tray with the brown teapot and a cup on it.  “She’ll get an inflammation of the lungs, if you’re not careful,” she warned direly as she set it down on the small bedside table.  Mina tried to sit forward, but Nye’s firm hold on her did not permit it.
“Make her some soup,” he ordered.  “And pass me that brush.”
“There’s oxtail on the stove,” Edna replied, picking up the hairbrush and passing it to him.  “But it needs another two hours.”
He didn’t reply, but it was still the most words Mina had ever heard them exchange.  Edna nodded to her and left.  Nye set the towel aside on a chair and started running the brush through the ends of her hair at her waist.
“You don’t have to do that,” Mina said wearily, as her head drooped forward.
“If I don’t, you’ll sleep on it wet,” he said dryly.  “And we both know it.”
Mina’s eyes drifted shut as she submitted to the strokes of the hairbrush down her back.
“Put your feet under the bedspread,” he recommended at one point.  “Your toes will get cold.”  But Mina was already fast asleep.
When next she woke, she was tucked in bed, extra pillows behind her head and her nightgown ribbons neatly tied.  Someone was bustling through the door with a